


Everything's Fine

by age_of_sharkbait



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Hugs, Kidnapping, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21897346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/age_of_sharkbait/pseuds/age_of_sharkbait
Summary: Based off of a post on @thegaynessof221b on Instagram basically Sherlock rescues John but he's super panicked about everything.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 2
Kudos: 82





	Everything's Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Bear with me, this is my first Sherlock fic.

Sherlock tried to calm his racing mind. Of course it didn't work, it never worked during normal circumstances, so now it was hopeless. John would be able to calm him down, at least a little, but he was-

 _No_ , Sherlock hissed at his own brain. He tightened his grip on the focusing knob of the microscope. Best not to go down that rabbit hole. Best to focus on the case.

"Anything yet?" Molly's voice broke through his concentration.

Sherlock spared her a single glare before peering back into the scope. "If you stopped distracting me I'd have something. Quit pacing around like a caged tiger."

Molly frowned, resolutely not pointing out that Sherlock's own leg was shaking up and down with an astonishing rapidity. She knew better. He wasn't trying to be mean, he was simply besides himself with worry.

It had been nearly ten hours since John had been kidnapped and Sherlock hadn't stopped working for a single second. This would be less worrisome if Sherlock already hadn't slept for three days. 

He and John had been working this case since Monday and now the string of kidnappings had become personal. Apparently the criminal thought Sherlock was getting too close. Little did they know, Sherlock now had the most vicious motivation. Molly knew Sherlock would soon have the location of the kidnapper's hideout but that didn't keep her from pacing and it didn't calm Sherlock's nervous leg shaking either.

Five anxious minutes later, Sherlock shot up out of his chair. "Phone Lestrade," he yelled over his shoulder as he snatched his coat, nearly tearing it. "He's at a disused restaurant in Peckham. They served several celebrities. That's the cause for all those frustrating pop culture references."

Then he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him. He didn't even realise he had left his scarf hanging. Sherlock hailed a cab once he left Bart's. The whole ride was torture. He kept running through battleplans, memorizing the layout of the property, sending out orders to his homeless network to scope out the area while he sat useless in the back of a car. 

His fingers drummed an erratic melody against his knees. His eyes darted everywhere, calculating and recalculating their arrival time with every street that passed. He tried everything to keep his mind off of John and everything that was at stake. 

_Caring is not an advantage, brother mine,_ Microft's voice scolded him.

"Shut up," Sherlock snarled, swatting the air around his head as if he could banish the voice.

Finally, _finally_ , the taxi reached its destination. Sherlock called the driver to stop a block away from the abandoned restaurant. He paid quickly, checking his phone to see what information his homeless network had gathered. 

No one had gone in or out, but there was definitely somebody home. Sherlock could see a sliver of light through the heavy blinds covering the window. He dodged down an alleyway, planning to use the back entrance by the bins.

He carefully twisted the knob...locked. Of course. Sherlock turned and scoured the alley for something to use. He picked out a gleam of metal halfway under a dumpster. He snatched the thin object up and put it in place to leverage the lock open.

Before he made his move, he paused to listen to the sounds of the night. No sirens. Lestrade was slow. Which meant no back-up. Sherlock considered waiting, but banished the thought as soon as it arose. He wouldn't leave John alone for another second let alone the nine hundred seconds it could take for the inspector to arrive.

He leaned against his lever and forced the lock. The door creaked open. Anyone within fifteen feet of the door would've heard it, so he assumed that the kidnapper knew he was here. Still, he crept inside like a shadow, using the darkest parts of the room as cover.

He was in a kitchen. Spider webs hung down from the stove hoods and cabinet doors hung lopsided on their hinges. Sherlock found a dull knife discarded on the peeling linoleum floor. It could hardly be expected to break skin, but he scooped it into his hand anyway.

The kidnapper was known to use guns. Sherlock could almost hear John admonishing him. _Sherlock you are literally bringing a knife to a gun fight, d'you know that?_

Sherlock tilted his head slightly as he heard the sound of voices. He crept closer to a swinging door that would most likely open on the dining area.

"Nothing left for you now but the rats, Dr. Watson. You and that stupid hat detective should have stayed away."

Sherlock's blood pounded in his ears. That sounded like a final threat. It was now or never. He pictured the room in his head, combining the blueprints he memorized with the evidence of his ears. When he was absolutely sure he had it right, Sherlock swung the door wide open, moving his arm back and throwing the knife.

Sherlock knew had misjudged his throw the moment the knife left his fingers. He had meant to target the man's hand to make him drop the gun he was undoubtedly holding, but he missed by several inches. The knife hit the man's shoulder and bounced to the ground.

Thankfully, it still accomplished it's purpose. The man flinched, dropping the gun and reaching for his shoulder.

Before he could register where the projectile had come from, Sherlock grabbed the man's outstretched arm and twisted it backward while at the same time delivering a swift blow to the bridge of his nose with a well placed elbow.

The man slumped to the ground, rendered fully unconscious. 

Sherlock stood still for a microsecond, regarding his work, before a sigh of relief captured his full attention.

"For someone who's never on time, you somehow manage to have great timing."

John's voice caused a strange reaction from Sherlock. He spun to face his friend, who was tied to a chair. His eyes went wide and he rushed to release him, scraping his knees on some broken glass as he dropped down.

"Are you alright, John?" Sherlock demanded. His trembling fingers struggled to undo the knots. "Did he hurt you?"

John was taken aback by this manic behavior. Sherlock couldn't even get his hands to work and his breathing was erratic.

"Sherlock..."

Sherlock ignored him, still fumbling with the rope, still shaking too hard to get anywhere. "If he did anything to you I swear--"

"Sherlock." John repeated, this time with enough firmness for Sherlock to actually listen. He looked up, his blue eyes shining with a wild light.

"Sherlock, you knocked him out cold. Everything's fine now."

" _Fine_?" Sherlock scrunched his face. "Obviously everything's fine why wouldn't it be fine of course it's fine are you fine?"

John couldn't help but laugh. Here he was, just seconds after having a gun trained on him and _he_ was comforting _Sherlock_. The pure clarity of the sound banished some of the crazed light from Sherlock's eyes. He let his shoulders relax and let out a long breath.

"I am fine. At least I would be if you could manage to untie me."

Sherlock stared at John for another five seconds before he jerked like he'd been slapped. "Right. Okay."

This time he worked out the knot from the rope around John's ankles and moved on to the ones around his wrists. As the last of the rope fell away, the sound of sirens rose up in the silence.

"I see Lestrade missed all the fun as usual," John remarked, rubbing his sore wrists.

Sherlock was silent. John saw that his eyes were glued to his wrists, which were red and raw from the rope. Anger slowly started to infuse his normally calm features.

John furrowed his brow. "Sherlock, I'm okay."

Sherlock kicked the kidnapper's gun sullenly. "It took too long to find you."

It had been a very close call, John was willing to admit that, but it was almost worth it to see this side of Sherlock. The one hardly anyone knew about and the one he hated to show. 

"Of course I only had a bit of mud containing brick particles--"

"Oh shut up, Sherlock." John cut him off, not eager to listen to all the science nonsense Sherlock was about to vomit. "Just..."

Sherlock glanced up at John, waiting for his next words.

"Just..." John shifted from one foot to the other before deciding to hell with it all. He cleared the space between the two of them and pulled Sherlock down into a hug. "Thank you."

Sherlock froze completely under John's embrace. His heart was moving a mile a minute while his mind went utterly blank. But just when Sherlock finally began to relax against him, John pulled away. 

John cleared his throat a little too loudly and tapped one hand against his thigh. "Right then. Let's get out of here before Lestrade storms the place.

"Yes," Sherlock said. "Best to let him know everything's fine."

John laughed again, and all the weight from the day's trials left Sherlock's shoulders. He breathed his own sigh of relief. Everything was fine.


End file.
